Made In The Shade
by si-star-x
Summary: The guys are staking out the corner of a road. There have been two deaths in the last week on that road, but is it bad driving or something a little more sinister? It's hot, real hot, and the boys are sweaty and whiny. It all ends in beer. Schmoopy gen.


Zoom in on a black 1967 Chevy Impala. The car is parked up on a grassy verge at the edge of a tight bend, the midday sun is high in the sky and causing the roof of said car to heat up - to the touch it would be scorching hot, the interior not much cooler.

"Dude, will you stop scratching that thing?"

Dean looks up, hair gelled in his trademark style and green eyes bright as the sun shares a glint of light through the wind shield. His eyes have travelled up from where he has his shirt hitched up, just enough to expose his stomach and a pad of gauze that is securely held down with two strips of medical tape. The gauze covers a trail of six stitches that rise from just underneath his last rib, the result of the latest hunt that actually resulted in a fight.

"Don't 'dude' me, Sammy." He shoots back, pain lines digging into the corner of his eyes as he lets the shirt fall back over the covering. "You're the one who was insistent on this."

Sam can be seen to pull his lips into a frown whilst his eyebrows furrow in response. "What are you talking about? It's a hunt, Dean. It's what we do."

"This isn't a hunt." Dean waves a dismissive hand and then raises it to his brow, wipes the back of it across his perspiration-dotted forehead. "This is melting. Slowly and painfully melting."

"Quit whining. There's some water in the back."

"It's warm!"

"Then you should have left some space in the cooler. Have a beer."

"First rule of hunting, Sam." Dean cocks an eyebrow, "No drinking on the job."

"What?" Sam replies with a snort, "That's not... that's stupid."

"Stop changing the subject. This isn't a hunt."

"Then what is it, Dean?"

"Melting. Parked up next to a field, staking out the corner of a deathly silent highway where it just so happens that there have been two deaths in the past week, and oh yeah, melting."

"It was suspicious." Sam shrugged, leaning one elbow out of the open window. "Do you think it's a lost cause?"

"We've seen four cars coming around this corner in the whole three hours we've been here." Dean's head is back against the headrest, hips shifting uncomfortably to get himself unstuck from the leather interior. "Every single one of those cars has had to slam the brakes just to make the turn. It's no wonder there are so many accidents, Sam. We're not traffic cops."

"Well..." Sam began, but then shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "I suppose you are right. We can just enjoy the view instead."

Dean wouldn't admit it, but it was pretty. They were staking out in the middle of the Minnesotan countryside, all grass and tiny flowers, bright blue skies and a sun that was torturing them with its rays.

"Beer?" Dean suggests hopefully, already opening the door and shifting one leg out onto the grass.

Sam chuckles and nods, because why the heck not? The job had obviously come to an abrupt end, for now anyway, and they might as well take a while to relax.

"How did it get so hot?" Dean groans, slicking back another hand covered in perspiration. "A white car would be more practical."

"I'll take it to Bobby. He can paint it." Sam's smile quirks up in the corner and Dean knows he's joking.

"Do it and die, Sammy."

Dean was out of the car first and as Sam took his sweet time in pulling out his own long legs, he caught sight of the line of sweat that laced Sam's t-shirt from shoulders to waistband.

"That," Dean points, screwing up his nose, "Is disgusting."

Sam grins, pulls the perspiration-soaked shirt over his head to expose his tanned torso. He balls up the shirt and shrugs his shoulders at Dean's insult - they are only men after all. He opens his mouth as though to respond but instead throws the balled-up clothing towards Dean and laughs as he jerks to avoid it.

"Ow!" Dean gasps as the movement causes him to torque his stitches, a hand reflexively locking against his stomach. "Dude!"

Sam is still laughing but manages to still his chuckles enough to apologise. "Sorry, Dean."

"You better be sorry, bitch." Dean rolls his eyes, shifts over to the edge of the verge and lowers himself down carefully. "For that you can grab the beers."

Sam pulls the whole cooler from underneath the back seats and drops it down beside Dean. He imagines they won't stop at just one. It's a nice day, and hey, they work hard for it.

"Thanks." Dean nods his head, relishing the feel of the ice cold bottle against his sweaty palms. "That cooler was the best purchase we ever made."

"Yeah." Sam laughs, drops to Dean's side as he pulls his own bottle to his lips and sucks in a mouthful, holding it against his tongue before pulling it down his throat. "Mm."

His back is still damp from sweat but the heavy sunshine is quickly causing the droplets to evaporate. What he wouldn't give for a pool of cold water or even just a bottle of cool evian to cover himself with.

"I didn't make you pull any stitches, did I?"

"Nah." Dean smiles, shakes his head. "I'm good."

He's not lying; he is good. Just hot. Really damn hot.

"Don't check me out, Sam," He chuckles as he settles the cold bottle between his thighs, enjoys the coldness that spreads beneath the denim. "I'm going in."

By 'going in' he means that he's about to take off his shirt. He sends a whiff of body odour in the direction of Sam as he tugs the material up over his head but manages it without a wince. It's not surprising considering the fact that he has developed a proficiency for downplaying injuries. He's hidden broken ribs from Sam before, so holding back a wince at tugging his stitches? Piece of cake.

"Why didn't we bring food with us?" Dean speaks as he bundles up the t-shirt and set it down next to him, reaching a hand over to scratch at the gauze pad again. "'m starving."

"You're always starving." Sam chuckles, "Besides, I didn't envisage us having a picnic. There are some M&Ms in the glove compartment."

So there they were. Beer, melted M&Ms and two shirtless men.

Brothers.


End file.
